


Alone

by dragonimp



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Excessive Drinking, M/M, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 04:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp
Summary: “Top floor, second door on the right, there’s a small room with a secluded balcony, go make sure no one’s thinking of doing anything stupid.”





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RoyEd Week 2019, Day 1, and inspired by the song Alone, by Halsey

_I know you're dying to meet me_

_But I can just tell you this_

_Baby, as soon as you meet me_

_You'll wish that you never did_

Alone, Halsey

“Top floor, of course it’s the fucking top floor,” Ed groused as he climbed the last flight of stairs.“Fuckin’—_not_ what I signed up to do—”

What he _had _ signed up to do was earn a little extra cash helping cater this snobby party—and maybe catch a glimpse at how the “other half” lived.Hedonistic fucking leeches.

And okay, maybe he’d been a bit curious about the pop idol hosting this party.Who he most definitely did not have a crush on.Mere curiosity.

Although that had been mostly a bust; he hadn’t seen the man since the evening began.As far as he could tell, no one had.He had no doubt gone off to have a tryst somewhere with some calendar girl or model somewhere.Or both.

And then his boss for the evening tossed him a set of keys and said he needed a favor.“Top floor, second door on the right, there’s a small room with a secluded balcony, go make sure no one’s thinking of doing anything stupid.”

Ed had stared at the keys.“If it’s locked, then how could anyone—?”

Havoc had cut him off with a frustrated sigh and a gesture to hurry.“Just check, please?I’d go myself but the goddamn elevator is out.”

Fucking pop idol at the top of the fucking charts and he can’t make sure his fucking mansion is ADA compliant.

Ed paused at the top to catch his breath.“I swear—if there’s a fucking orgy—going on in there—I’m demanding hazard pay.”

Second door on the right.It _seemed_ quiet enough.

He found the correct key after a few tries and eased the door open.

It was nothing but a simple guest bedroom.Just a bed and some basic furniture, a door to what was probably a bathroom to one side.No evidence of orgies or idiots shooting up or—anything, really.With three floors separating it from the noise of the party it was actually pretty peaceful.Relatively.

The door to the balcony was open, the sheers stirring from the night breeze.Someone _had_ been here, then.Ed took one last look around the room, and then stepped outside.

The light from the back deck didn’t reach here, so it could be forgiven that Ed nearly jumped out of his skin when someone chuckled at him from less than two feet to his right.

“What the—fuck—”

“Havoc sent you up here?”

Ed blinked hard and willed his eyes to adjust because that couldn’t be who it sounded like.

“Elevator’s down again?Always goes down.Funniest thing.”

“Yeah . . . funny.”

Ed could just make him out, perched on the balcony railing with his legs stretched out in front of him, not much more than a pale face and hands amid some vaguely human shaped shadows in the dark.But that voice.That fucking velvet baritone was unmistakable.

Not that Ed had spent an inordinate amount of time listening to the albums or anything.

“Aren’t you—supposed to be—at the party?”He pointed at the revelry three floors below.As if that would make any of this make sense.“I mean . . . it’s your party.”

Roy Mustang, pop idol who’s topped the charts for the last five years, star of every teenage girl’s wet dream (not that he’d made a guest appearance in Ed’s, or anything)—shrugged.“These things have a way of, um . . . going on under their own, um . . . their own . . . on their own.Don’t really need me.”

Ed squinted at him in the dark.“Are you _drunk_?”

“Trying to be.”

And, yeah, that bottle he just raised to his lips and took a big long swallow from certainly didn’t look like water.

“Are you—are you fucking _insane_?”His hands jerked with the need to flail about but there was a _drunk pop idol on a railing_ and any wrong move might send him tumbling over.“We’re _three floors up_!‘Roy Mustang takes drunken swan dive off of fourth floor balcony’ is a _shitty_ epitaph—_shit_!”

Mustang had dropped his head back against the wall and started laughing.Uproariously.Because his seat hadn’t been precarious enough.

Ed grabbed his arm, and before he’d really thought about what he was doing had scooped the man off the railing.He grunted, staggered back a couple steps, and unceremoniously dumped him into a nearby lounger.“No._Absolutely_ not.”He jabbed a finger in his face.“_No_ shitty death wish on my watch.”

Mustang had yelped when Ed picked him up and sat there now blinking at him, clearly trying to reorient to this abrupt change from railing to chair.

He dropped back against the lounger and started tittering.“Wow.Strong _and_ cute.Where’d Havoc find you?”

“Whuh—?”

* * *

“He hates it.All of it.”

Mr. Havoc was setting up trays with practiced ease while Al worked on the seemingly endless dishes.Why couldn’t rich people use things more than once?

“But it’s the contract,” Mr. Havoc continued.“Ouroboros Records owns his image.Practically own his life.”

“So the parties?The girls?”

“All manufactured.Just a product being sold to the masses.”He sighed, and sent two more trays off with Paninnya.“Between you and me . . . I think they’re _hoping_ he self destructs.Burn out bright while the legend is still big, you know?”

Al pulled his hands out of the wash water.“You can’t mean. . . .”

Mr. Havoc waited until two more of the servers were loaded with trays and on their way, then wheeled up close to the sink.“These parties—the big ones—always happen when his writing partner is out of town.She’s the one who keeps him level, y’know?Keeps him from spiraling into these self destructive moods he gets into.And on top of that,” he pointed toward the broken elevator.“Last three times _that_ thing has somehow broken down.”

“Which means you’re stuck here on the first floor.”

“Hawkeye and I are really the only ones around who know how he gets—or care.With her out of town and me grounded. . . .”

Al sighed, and went back to the washing.“Are you sure my brother is the best person to send after him?Ed isn’t exactly the most . . . _level_ person himself.”

“I’m counting on your brother not to take any of his shit.”Mr. Havoc grinned.“And to drag him bodily out of any bad ideas.If he needs to.”

* * *

“Did you just flirt with me?Roy Mustang just drunk flirted with me.”

“You should tell the pap—pap’ratz—the tabloids.”He made a little hiccuping giggle.“Mebbe they won’t be able to cover it up this time.”He raised the bottle he had somehow kept a grip on and took another swig.

“Yeah, ‘Roy Mustang, pop heartthrob and infamous _womanizer_, drunk flirts with nineteen-year-old guy.’Great headline.”

Mustang giggled into the neck of the bottle.

With a sigh that was mostly growl Ed grabbed the bottle with one hand and Mustang’s arm with the other, hauling him to his feet.“All right, you’re _done_.Long done.”

Mustang smirked and leaned—sagged—into his shoulder.“I c’n show you what _else_ is long.”

Ed was sure his cheeks were aflame.“Argh, no!You’re drunk!We’re—_I’m_ not doing this!”Hehauled him upright and steered him into the room.“You’re a _horrible_ drunk flirt.”

Mustang stumbled, and ended up with his nose smashed against the side of Ed’s face.“Mm . . . what was your name?I don’t remember your name.”

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t give it.”He aimed him toward the bed and gave him a shove.“You’re definitely _done_.”

After he flopped on the bed Ed dragged him over to the edge, but Mustang immediately squirmed around, turning his head in toward the pillow.

“Would you—shit.The point is so you _won’t_ choke on your own vomit.”

“Can’t see on that side.”

Ed paused.“You’re . . . blind in one eye?”

“Not an eye.Hunk of glass.”

“. . . Oh.”

Ed came around the bed, grabbed an arm and a pant leg, and hauled him to the other edge.Mustang giggled.

“Someday . . . someday I wanna take it out on stage.Throw it to the audience.Let them—let them have a piece of me.”

The absurdity of that made Ed laugh so hard he had to catch himself against the bed.“Shit.Shit!I would pay to see that.Never been to a concert in my life—but I would pay to see _that_.”

“I’ll—send a ticket.My treat.”

Ed dropped to the floor.“You’re a fucking—piece of _work_.You throw parties and ditch early—get shitfaced and flirt with the first piece of ass to come by—and now you’re talking about pitching out your prosthetic as a macabre souvenir.Imma havta remember that last one.”

“Not my parties.”

“What?”

“Not _my_ parties.”The mirth was gone, replaced by something much more morose.Mustang reached out and clumsily flicked at the ends of Ed’s hair, where it made a ragged fringe on the side of his face.“What was your name again?”

“I never . . . it’s Ed.”

“Ed?”

“Yeah.Nothing fancy.Just Ed.”

“Ed. . . .”In the oh-so-careful way of someone who’s several drinks past their limit and knows it he pushed the hair away from Ed’s face, made an attempt to tuck it behind his ear.“Ed.‘M Roy.”

Ed gave him a lopsided smile.“Yeah.I know.”

“. . . Where’d Havoc find you . . . ?”

“Physical therapy center.”Ed took the hand and gently tucked it onto the bed with the rest of the drunk mess.“Not that you’re gonna remember any of this in the morning, but I go there because of my leg.”

“Hm?”

He slid his left pant leg up, exposing the metal and plastic contraption underneath.“You’re not the only one with removable parts.”

“Issa nice leg.”

“Um . . . thanks.”He sighed.“You gonna . . . stay put?Or do I havta babysit you some more?”

“Mmm. . . .”

“Dunno why I asked.”With another sigh, he settled back against the wall.“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.Nobody—fucking _nobody_—would believe me.”

A not entirely pleasant smile spread across Mustang’s face.“Mebbe you should tell _everyone_.Big scandal.”

“Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?Get your name in the papers.Again.”

“They’d _hate_ it.Bad image.They’d try to cover it up—again.Someday . . . someday they won’t.Won’t be able to.Someday. . . .”

“Just—just what have they made you cover up—?”

But whatever it was, Mustang was beyond explaining.He just muttered another “. . . Someday . . .” his eyes unfocused.

Ed sighed.


End file.
